Once Erin was settled in with her cappucino, he sat down at the piano and
began to play. He settled on some Mozart to begin with. He played well,
although a bit stiffly in his left hand. He doubted she would have been
able to pick it up. For all her charms, she was not able to afford much of
the finer things in life, and her tastes in music did not run to the
classical. As the music came to a close, Dr. Lecter found himself queerly
but sourly convinced that she would express her satisfaction with a Wow.
She surprised him. "You're an excellent player," she said. "You must've been doing it a long time."
"Thank you, I have." Dr. Lecter was unreasonably pleased that she had not said Wow. He noted that she had barely touched her cappucino while he had played.
"Where did you learn to play?" she pursued.
Dr. Lecter smiled tolerantly. "As a boy, like most people, I suppose. When I grew up, I had a harpsichord as well as the standard clavier."
"You stuck with it. You're very good." She sipped at the cup and sang softly. "Dort am Klavier, lauschte ich ihr, und wenn ihr Spiel begann, hielt ich den Atmen an,"
He tilted his head and smiled, surprised. "Ich wusste nicht, dass du Deutsch koentest."
She blushed prettily, and glanced down at the carpet. "I don't speak German."
"Where is that from? Sounds like a poem of some type."
Her voice was almost inaudible. "It's a song."
"By whom? I'm not familiar with it."
She shook her head once and continued to look down.
"Oh, come now, who wrote it?"
Reluctantly she breathed, "Rammstein."
"I'm not familiar with that musician. Tell me about him."
"It's a band," she clarified. "But…it's heavy metal. It's not…," she trailed off, obviously embarrassed.
"Not what?" Dr. Lecter prodded.
"Not cultured," she said, raising her voice to normal speaking volume. "It's not like Mozart or Brahms or Nietzsche or Kierkegaard or anything like that. It's a heavy metal band and they sing in German. And they set things on fire in their concerts."
"Fire. Really." Dr. Lecter was noncommittal.
"I shouldn't have mentioned it. I feel like such a peasant," she said miserably.
Privately, Dr. Lecter agreed. Had she been completely lucid, he might have said so. But she wasn't, and was about to become much less so. He refrained for the same reason he had refrained from physically overpowering her or toying with her during her hypnosis sessions: there simply was nothing dignified in tormenting his charge while she was unable to defend herself. It was rude, pure and simple.
"Not at all," he said. "How is your cappucino? You've barely touched it."
"It's fine," she said, and took a long swallow from it. This was the result Dr. Lecter had hoped for.
"Do those beans meet with your professional approval?" he asked gently.
She smiled, eyed the brown liquid below the cream, and took another sip. "These beans are much better than anything the shop would buy," she pronounced. "Tom likes nice stuff, but these are way too expensive."
"Excellent," Dr. Lecter said, and began to play, a Chopin number he was fond of. He concentrated on his playing, only glancing over from time to time to see if Erin was still watching. She continued sipping the cappucino as he played, although he noticed she would put it down and rub her temples from time to time.
Once he was finished with the Chopin, he glanced over at her again. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was swaying noticeably in the chair.
"Is something wrong?" he asked pleasantly.
"No…I…that wine, must've gone right to my head….I….", she murmured. She slumped back against the upholstered chair and her eyes closed. Dr. Lecter waited a minute or two to see if she would stir. When she did not, he pushed back the piano bench and strode towards her.
"It wasn't the wine," he said gently. "It was the cappucino, I'm afraid."
Erin did not hear him; she was unconscious. Dr. Lecter lifted her empty cup and took it into the kitchen. It contained not only gourmet cappucino, but enough sedatives to put her out for at least twelve hours.
Dr. Lecter had work to do now. For just a moment, he entertained the possibility of simply slitting her throat while she lay before him. But no; she was his charge, and this was his last responsibility to her. And besides, he wanted to know if the experiment was truly a success or not.
He pulled on a set of latex gloves first. Then he wheeled in her wheelchair and carefully lifted her into it. Two Hermes scarves tied across her chest served to keep her reasonably upright. He walked back to his supply closet off the kitchen and removed some spray cleaner and a sponge. He began to clean the house as thoroughly as he could, polishing and cleaning any item he might have touched. From his study to his bedroom to Erin's room to the sitting room, he scrubbed, cleaned, and polished.
She surprised him. "You're an excellent player," she said. "You must've been doing it a long time."
"Thank you, I have." Dr. Lecter was unreasonably pleased that she had not said Wow. He noted that she had barely touched her cappucino while he had played.
"Where did you learn to play?" she pursued.
Dr. Lecter smiled tolerantly. "As a boy, like most people, I suppose. When I grew up, I had a harpsichord as well as the standard clavier."
"You stuck with it. You're very good." She sipped at the cup and sang softly. "Dort am Klavier, lauschte ich ihr, und wenn ihr Spiel begann, hielt ich den Atmen an,"
He tilted his head and smiled, surprised. "Ich wusste nicht, dass du Deutsch koentest."
She blushed prettily, and glanced down at the carpet. "I don't speak German."
"Where is that from? Sounds like a poem of some type."
Her voice was almost inaudible. "It's a song."
"By whom? I'm not familiar with it."
She shook her head once and continued to look down.
"Oh, come now, who wrote it?"
Reluctantly she breathed, "Rammstein."
"I'm not familiar with that musician. Tell me about him."
"It's a band," she clarified. "But…it's heavy metal. It's not…," she trailed off, obviously embarrassed.
"Not what?" Dr. Lecter prodded.
"Not cultured," she said, raising her voice to normal speaking volume. "It's not like Mozart or Brahms or Nietzsche or Kierkegaard or anything like that. It's a heavy metal band and they sing in German. And they set things on fire in their concerts."
"Fire. Really." Dr. Lecter was noncommittal.
"I shouldn't have mentioned it. I feel like such a peasant," she said miserably.
Privately, Dr. Lecter agreed. Had she been completely lucid, he might have said so. But she wasn't, and was about to become much less so. He refrained for the same reason he had refrained from physically overpowering her or toying with her during her hypnosis sessions: there simply was nothing dignified in tormenting his charge while she was unable to defend herself. It was rude, pure and simple.
"Not at all," he said. "How is your cappucino? You've barely touched it."
"It's fine," she said, and took a long swallow from it. This was the result Dr. Lecter had hoped for.
"Do those beans meet with your professional approval?" he asked gently.
She smiled, eyed the brown liquid below the cream, and took another sip. "These beans are much better than anything the shop would buy," she pronounced. "Tom likes nice stuff, but these are way too expensive."
"Excellent," Dr. Lecter said, and began to play, a Chopin number he was fond of. He concentrated on his playing, only glancing over from time to time to see if Erin was still watching. She continued sipping the cappucino as he played, although he noticed she would put it down and rub her temples from time to time.
Once he was finished with the Chopin, he glanced over at her again. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was swaying noticeably in the chair.
"Is something wrong?" he asked pleasantly.
"No…I…that wine, must've gone right to my head….I….", she murmured. She slumped back against the upholstered chair and her eyes closed. Dr. Lecter waited a minute or two to see if she would stir. When she did not, he pushed back the piano bench and strode towards her.
"It wasn't the wine," he said gently. "It was the cappucino, I'm afraid."
Erin did not hear him; she was unconscious. Dr. Lecter lifted her empty cup and took it into the kitchen. It contained not only gourmet cappucino, but enough sedatives to put her out for at least twelve hours.
Dr. Lecter had work to do now. For just a moment, he entertained the possibility of simply slitting her throat while she lay before him. But no; she was his charge, and this was his last responsibility to her. And besides, he wanted to know if the experiment was truly a success or not.
He pulled on a set of latex gloves first. Then he wheeled in her wheelchair and carefully lifted her into it. Two Hermes scarves tied across her chest served to keep her reasonably upright. He walked back to his supply closet off the kitchen and removed some spray cleaner and a sponge. He began to clean the house as thoroughly as he could, polishing and cleaning any item he might have touched. From his study to his bedroom to Erin's room to the sitting room, he scrubbed, cleaned, and polished.
